After a ‘week’ of work, Dragon was completely satisfied. During that long stretch of time, he’d even managed to think of a purpose for that hulking meat suit he made for Oenus’ previous order. Currently it or rather, Domagon, was out herding the little bunsacks together, a fitting use of its strength. Unfortunately, it was dumb as a box of rocks as they say.

Domagon’s lack of intelligence wouldn’t be a huge problem, mostly Dragon was relieved to have finally found purpose for his canceled order. It was so much work to stitch together, scrapping it right before the completion would have been a crying shame, as one said. Finishing it was the right choice.

However, his true satisfaction came from completing the rework. Although he only had Oenus’ rough descriptions to style it by, he felt the dainty creature slumped next to his sewing machine fully embodied everything a princess should be. He wasn’t even angry about having to ‘cancel the big’ anymore.

Oenus was right, dragons were well suited to rescuing fair maidens. Brawns should stick to herding bunsacks, and Domagon was nothing but brawn. His supple princess would be loathed to live in Domagon’s body.

Nope, canceling the first order was the correct choice, and Dragon wasn’t too proud to admit his failings. His princess deserved to look like one.

Dragon even slimmed down the tail.

***************************************

One second Eta was in bed, the next she was seated in the wheeled chair. It was like she blinked and teleported. The awe she held towards that feat was quickly replaced.

The chair is moving! I’m leaving! I’m rolling out to the hall!

Scrub-bucket’s plastic arms scooted the chair along at a casual pace, as though they were in the procession of a parade and he wanted her to relish in the attention. Once he rolled her into the hall, she even half expected a line-up of all her old friends to cheer as she passed by their rooms.

Sadly, no one was there.

The rooms were empty. Thomas’ John Deere hat hung over his bed. Jasper’s T.V. tray rested in the middle of the floor, a half-finished game of Rummikub scattered across it. Penny’s pocketbook was opened, the contents in a pile that spilled over the side of her nightstand. Susan’s neatly pleated slacks knelt over her bed, her Peter Rabbit blouse folded next to it. And Randall, his trick thumb, that old gag he never tired of, it was nowhere to be found.

“Everyone?” Eta asked.

Scrub-bucket didn’t answer. The only sound: the wheels squeaking down the hall and the clank of Scrub-bucket’s steps. Eta swallowed hard.

He wheeled her down the access ramp and onto Main Street.

The town was destroyed. Nearly every building had the front ripped right off it. It looked like someone had taken a giant saw and ripped it straight through. Snapped boards, broken signposts, and even a kitchen sink riddled the cobbled roadway.

That was right. Nearly every building was destroyed and the streets littered. Only one pristine location remained. The storefronts directly in front of Eta's window.  Tom’s Suds, Dick’s Masonry, and Harry’s Pattyshack were untouched, the only storefronts Eta could see from her room. The streets in front of them were so clean they nearly sparkled.

Something was very wrong here, and Scrub-bucket had gone through great pains to hide it whatever that was from her.

She gnawed her knuckle while the wheeled chair rattled down the cobbled streets. Scrub-bucket pushed her down a little trail he cleared, debris shoved to either side.

And at the end of that trail was a well. She never remembered that well being there before, and having lived here all her life, she would know. In spite of all the chaos, the well was plopped right in the middle of town just like a big fat pimple. Even the tower behind the well wasn’t as unsightly.

Wait. Tower?

It goes without saying, the tower was a new addition as well. It was a scraggly mess of protruding lumber stacked high above the town. Strung from the top of it, a rope stretched from the summit of the tower to the roof of the well, tying the two together for some bizarre reason.

Eta couldn’t calm her heart. Instead of aching for her companion, it was pounding in her chest. She was scared. When she’d asked to join, she’d only expected a few quirks and oddities, this…this was a fucking apocalypse. Everyone was gone, the town was destroyed, and she was chair bound, scooting down a path she had no control over.

Useless!  I'm useless!

He wheeled the chair ten paces away from the well. The tower loomed high above it and Scrub-bucket patted Eta on the head. His lips curled into a proud smile below narrowed eyes.

She tried to form words, but her mouth only stammered. Scrub-bucket bowed down in front of her and kissed her knee. She didn’t have the strength to kick him away.

He grimaced when he looked up at her face. “You’re mad. I knew you’d be mad. They tried to talk me against it, but I knew you’d be mad.”

His plastic hand pointed to the tower. “It’s a game, you see that? That cunt is here. That’s why I got the well. I can’t stop Mister Jenkens, just pay his dues.  That's what this is; I'm gonna leave an advanced payment so we can be free of this world. I just gotta feed him a bit.  Don’t be mad—you won’t ever need to throw tantrums as I did. Wouldn’t that be nice, to never need to throw tantrums?”

Then he popped to attention with his typical optimism.

“Watch!” He said. “It’ll be fun. Because it’s a show, you won’t have to be mad. It’ll be fun.  I’ll put on a show!”

With that indecipherable message, he twirled around and skipped toward the tower in a stunted, stiff-legged stride. His feet scraping again the stone like they were made of wood.

Stopping right at the base, he beamed and waved real big at her, churning Eta’s stomach. She knew something bad was going to happen. Looking at the state of the town, it was a certainty.

Scrub-bucket hopped up and down a couple of times, and then the damnedest thing happened. A trapdoor and his feet sprang up, launching him straight into the air. His body sailed clear up to the summit of the tower, then, right when he reached the rope strung from the top of it, Eta heard a metallic click and Scrub-bucket changed directions.

Somehow or other, his body attached itself to the rope and he was now gliding along it in a steep descent towards the well. What was worse, he was enjoying every second of it. His arms stretched out in front of him just like Superman, while his trench coat fluttered behind.

His joy was short-lived. In a flash, he’d already reached the end of his rope and crashed into the well.

And the next part…the next part…the next part…

Eta shook. Scrub-bucket waved his mannequin arm one last time, refusing to forget about her. And Eta shook.

At that point, her mouth couldn't even gape. She couldn’t understand it. She couldn’t understand any of it.

In her shock, she’d failed to notice the meaty claw comforting her shoulder. It felt like the claw of a dragon.

A gravely voice spoke up and despite the lack of distortion, she recognized it well. The boss was here.

“Hmm…he’s an odd one,” the boss said.

Eta couldn’t move her body enough to agree with him.

“Well, let's get this over with. I got a princess to rescue,” he said.

Before Eta could comprehend his words, a dull ache spread from her stomach. She’d been violated in some very creative ways before, but the sensation was never like this. It felt so…foreign. Like something was wrong, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.

Her head slumped down on its own and she discovered the source of the violation. A spiked chunk of what looked like obsidian burst through her gut. In fact, she noted, if the chunk was any wider, it might have cleaved her right in two. Strings of intestine and mushy entrails still clung to its crude ridges, and Eta finally gave up comprehending what was going on.

She decided she didn't want to know.  She really didn't want to know.

Her head shifted back up and all she said was “Oh”.

Ears ringing, vision darkening, she focused on the boss’ meaty claws rubbing her shoulders. His comforting words gave her a sliver of hope.

“It’ll be alright, princess. We still got a round of Canasta to play.”

That was right. It always began with just Canasta.

The tunnel of her vision faded as she watched the well. Meaty claws rubbing her shoulder and Canasta on the brain.

The last thing she saw in this world was Scrub-bucket swinging from the roof of the well. Somehow, that fellow had gotten all tangled up in his rope. He hung by the neck, gently swaying back and forth over the hole below.

Soon, the trench coat slid off his shoulders and glided into the abyss. Pop, pop, pop, pop. All four of his limbs soon followed, two broomsticks and two mannequin arms.

After the trench coat fell, Eta learned what happened to her afghan. It fluttered behind him just like Superman’s cape.

Quadriplegic Superman, hung from the well. What a quirky fellow…

End of Arc